


Wrong Place, Wrong Time

by undercoverwarlock



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Crime Scenes, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, honestly just some pre-relationship silliness I don't know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:08:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29041389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undercoverwarlock/pseuds/undercoverwarlock
Summary: A team of Aurors gets a tip-off of a drug deal going down with a criminal they've been tracking for months. When they get there, though, all they find is a very confused Draco Malfoy. Harry is made to guard him, and he learns that not everything is as it seems...
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 119





	Wrong Place, Wrong Time

**Author's Note:**

> Characters belong to JKR. She's still a TERF. But here, have some fluff featuring the boys.

Harry leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, his wand loose in his hand as he tapped it against his ribcage. He had wanted to run off with the rest of the team to chase down the suspect, but Auror Dawkins had ordered him to stay and guard the witness – or potential accomplice, only time would tell. So here he was, in the rundown basement flat, a splash of crimson robes against grey walls, guarding Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy sat on the ground a few feet away from Harry. Trapped in an _Incarcerous_ spell, his arms bound to his sides by the heavy ropes, he seemed to have resigned himself to his situation. He had drawn his knees up and rested the back of his head against the wall, his features thrown into sharp relief by the exposed strip lighting above them. The two of them looked anywhere but at each other as the minutes ticked by. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to look at. The flat, much to the Aurors’ despair, was completely bare – not the stock room of a drug lord but a random meeting place, no stacks of contraband potions but a shocked Malfoy and a back door swinging open on its hinges. They had missed the suspect by seconds.

Malfoy piped up in his posh drawl, “I’m innocent, by the way.”

“Sure you are,” Harry sneered back. Malfoy turned his head to glare at him.

“For your information, I’ve been on the straight and narrow for the past five years, thank you very much.” He rolled his head back to frown at the opposite wall, shifting in his restraints as he tried to sulk and had to resort to a simple pout. Harry narrowed his eyes at him.

“If you’re so straight, why were you meeting Ivanovich?” he demanded. Malfoy shrugged.

“I don’t know everything the guy is into.” At Harry’s disbelieving snort, he looked up, his grey eyes sharp as his lips twisted. “And for the record, I never said I was straight,” he clarified with a raised eyebrow. “Heaven forbid someone accuse me of _that_.”

“What, you’re okay with being accused of buying drugs, but not with people thinking you’re straight?” His words were serious, but he couldn’t help the incredulous grin spreading across his face. “Christ, you need to sort your priorities before you take that before a judge.”

Malfoy scowled at him. “What are you… I wasn’t buying drugs, you nincompoop!” When Harry only shook his head with a laugh, Malfoy shuffled around to face him better, his cheeks flushed as he insisted, “I’m telling the truth! I was told to meet him here because he had a supply of powdered Erumpent horn. Do you know how difficult it is to get powdered Erumpent horn, Potter? In this country? Bloody impossible, let me tell you, especially after Erumpents were put on the Endangered Species list. But when a client asks for a very specific potion that uses powdered Erumpent horn and you are just a small, self-employed Potions Master, you do what you have to do and – ”

“Alright, alright,” Harry said, cutting off Malfoy’s tirade with a raised hand. He sighed as he considered Malfoy. It was true that, as far as DMLE surveillance was concerned, Malfoy hadn’t had so much as a littering fine since his trial and subsequent probation. There was nothing about him now, even, that would hint at him being an addict – no red-rimmed eyes, no twitching hands, no desperate twist to his features. No, he looked… good. There was a healthy warmth to his pale skin, and while he was still thin, all angles and cutting edges, there was a softness to his cheeks, muscle in the shoulders left exposed above the ropes. His clothes, as ever, were sophisticated and neat – starched white button down and dark trousers, his polished shoes shining in the harsh light. Harry frowned.

He turned, pressing his shoulder into the wall as he furrowed his brow at Malfoy. “How did you find Ivanovich, then? Craigslist?”

Malfoy blinked. “Who’s Craig? And why does he have a list?”

The laugh that startled out of Harry was a bubbling delight, so clear and bright that Malfoy smiled, confused but with a look that could only be described as awe. Harry shook his head, still chuckling to himself. “Oh, you sweet summer child.” He wiped away a tear as he sobered up. “Don’t worry about it. So,” he took a deep breath, all business, “Ivanovich. How did you get involved with him?”

Malfoy pressed his lips together, his smile growing small as he shrugged and looked away. “Ah, well, that’s a long story.” He sighed, shifting so that he once again had his back against the wall. “As I said earlier, I had a client who ordered a specific potion – I can’t tell you what, client-Potion Master confidentiality – but it required powdered Erumpent horn. Now, I tried to substitute it for something else, but I couldn’t get it to work, so I began to scour the markets for powdered Erumpent horn. Nothing.” He stretched his legs out in front of him with a slight scowl. Harry thought that would be the end of it, but after a deep breath, Malfoy launched into a fast-paced story that, if his arms weren’t bound, Harry was sure would have included with elaborate gesticulations.

“I had been about to give up hope when an acquaintance told me he knew of someone who might have a supply of powdered Erumpent horn, and I’ll be honest, I was pretty desperate at this point. My client had said he needed the potion by the end of the month and if I couldn’t get it, he would find someone who could, and honestly, I can’t lose another client. It’s hard enough to be a freelance Potion Master, but trying to be a freelance Potion Master as an ex-Death Eater? Doesn’t matter what I do, people still don’t trust me. Anyways, I was at this dinner party Blaise was hosting – you remember Blaise? Zabini, yeah, that one. He’s doing pretty well for himself. So he’s having this dinner party, yeah? And I’m bemoaning to Pansy – Parkinson, yeah, we’re quite close – about how hard it is to find powdered Erumpent horn and this guy – I don’t even remember his name really, I think it was Murphy Evans or something, his initials were M.E. anyway, that’s how he signed his letters – he says he might know someone who could get me powdered Erumpent horn. We exchange details, and by the end of the week, he’s set up a meeting with this Ivanovich guy.

“I have to admit, I was already a bit nervous, showing up to this sketchy place.” He gestured around him with a roll of his head. Harry, frowning as he listened, slid down the wall to sit on the ground next to Malfoy, never once taking his eyes off of Malfoy’s face, enthralled by the tale he told.

Malfoy continued, “But I told myself, hey, just hear this guy out. If he has the stuff, then this will be the last time you ever make anything with powdered Erumpent horn, you’ll just have to tell future clients that you can’t, end of story. I should have just stuck with that, I should have just told this client that it couldn’t be done, but listen, I need this business. My rent’s due in two weeks and I need at least a week to brew the potion before I send it to the client, and I just… I really can’t afford not to, you know? So I go in, Ivanovich was stood over there, he turns around, sees me, and then you lot show up and he bolts.”

Malfoy let out a long sigh as he finishes his story, like he had just finished running a marathon. Harry didn’t think he had ever heard Malfoy talk this much before. Unlike his usual slow drawl, his voice had been animated, hurried but earnest at the same time. For some reason, Harry didn’t doubt him. He considered Malfoy for a long time. Malfoy turned his head to look at him, searching Harry’s face, as if hoping to divine Harry’s thoughts from what he found there. Malfoy’s eyes were a warmer shade of grey than the barren walls, more like heather and wool than concrete and steel. Harry pursed his lips.

“So you really aren’t involved with Ivanovich, then?”

Malfoy shook his head. “I didn’t even know he was a drug lord until you said, honest,” he insisted. “If I had, I would have called the whole thing off.”

Harry hummed, not entirely convinced. Malfoy seemed to pick up on this and with a huff, he tried to work his hand towards his trouser pocket. But the restraints held his arms at the wrong angle and he had to give up with another huff and a scowl. “Could you… this is embarrassing as it is, but if you could just look in my pocket,” he said, glancing over at Harry imploringly, “you’ll see why I would never get involved with a drug lord.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I promise it’s not a weapon or anything, just… Come on, I’m trying to clear my name here.”

With one last skeptical look, Harry shifted closer to Malfoy, and slipped his hand into Malfoy’s trouser pocket. He felt Malfoy shiver at his touch. He barely stifled a shiver himself as his fingers slid across the warm muscle of Malfoy’s thigh covered only by the thin fabric of the pocket. Then his fingers found something round and flat. His eyebrows knitted together. Pulling it out and holding it in his open palm, Harry’s mouth opened in a small ‘oh’. It was a sobriety chip.

“Three years,” Malfoy murmured. He looked at the plastic chip with his lips curled into a proud smirk, his long lashes casting pale shadows on his high cheekbones. Harry’s chest grew tight, his breath catching as he looked at Malfoy in this clear light. “I’ve come too far,” Malfoy continued in that low murmur, as if he didn’t care if Harry heard, as if his words were only for him, “to fall back now. I promise you that.”

Harry swallowed. Unsure how to respond, he simply slipped the coin back into Malfoy’s pocket. Malfoy glanced up, eyes searching. This close, Harry could see a scatter of freckles across his pointed nose, a scar above his lip, the flush creeping up his neck from beneath his starched collar. He smelled like lemon and mint muddled in ice, melting in the sun. Harry’s heart sped against his ribcage, a sharp tattoo tapping out a beat both new and startingly familiar. Malfoy’s gaze lingered on Harry’s lips before he forced himself to meet Harry’s eyes. With a strange sense of satisfaction, Harry noticed Malfoy’s breaths were sharp and shallow, his pupils dilating as they stared at each other, reconsidering and reveling in the heady tension between them.

Then there was the sound of the door to the flat opening and the thunder of Auror feet on the stairs. Harry jumped to his feet. Malfoy pulled his knees into his chest and returned to staring at the wall. The team crowded back into the empty room, Ivanovich bound and stumbling between them. Auror Dawkins bounced on the balls of his feet, his ruddy face beaming with victory.

“Well, looks like we are all done here!” he announced, clapping a hand on Harry’s shoulder, as if Harry had anything to do with Ivanovich’s capture. Harry frowned as he glanced at the prisoner. The man had thick black hair and beard, his dark eyes burning with vindictive hatred even as they scanned the room, looking for any chance of escape. When his lips curled in a snarl, Harry caught the gleam of two pointed eyeteeth. Dawkins stepped in front of Harry’s line of sight and he blinked, refocusing. “We got the kingpin and his business partner,” Dawkins was saying, his jovial smile not erasing the distaste in his blue eyes as he looked at Malfoy with his hands on his hips. “I can’t wait to get this one in front of a jury again, let me tell you.” He winked at Harry, as if he was in on the joke. Harry’s brow furrowed.

“But, sir, he doesn’t have anything to do with Ivanovich,” Harry protested. He took a step to the side, shielding Malfoy from Dawkins’ view. Dawkins’ eyes narrowed. “He told me so himself,” Harry insisted, “he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He had no idea who Ivanovich was.”

“You don’t really believe him, though, do you, Potter?” Dawkins asked, his smile growing tight and forced. “Come now, Potter, he’s a Malfoy, he’ll say whatever he has to so he can slither his way out of trouble.”

“The boy is telling the truth.”

Dawkins turned on his heel as he and Harry stared at Ivanovich who continued in his heavily-accented growl, “I would never do business with a Malfoy, not after what that bastard Lucius did to me!” He spat on the ground. “That bastard sold me out after the Dark Lord was defeated the first time. I swore on that day I would never do business with a Malfoy again, ever! If I had known _this_ ,” he jerked his head in Malfoy’s direction, “was who I was meeting, I would never have come.”

Harry heard a quiet, disparaging laugh behind him. “Wow, I really can’t catch a break, can I?” Malfoy whispered. Harry shot him a look to tell him to be quiet, but Malfoy only shook his head.

“I – I don’t understand,” Dawkins stammered. He looked from Ivanovich to Harry and back again. “But he was meeting you here. Our source said….”

“I think we should look into that source, sir,” said Harry. A realization had begun to form in the back of his mind, the pieces coming together the longer he looked at Ivanovich’s snarling face. “I think someone was trying to kill two birds with one stone, as it were.” Dawkins’ eyes widened, his ruddy cheeks blanching.

“You mean…”

“Someone was trying to frame Malfoy and take out Ivanovich at the same time,” Harry finished with a nod. “Yes, sir, I think that’s exactly what’s happening here.”

Silence fell. The officers holding Ivanovich at wand-point exchanged confused looks. Harry raised an eyebrow, waiting for Dawkins to take the lead. When the man just stood there, looking like someone had offered him an ice cream only to drop it on the floor in front of him, Harry prompted him with a quiet, “Sir? We should be getting back to the DMLE, right?”

Dawkins shook himself. Suddenly unable to meet Harry’s gaze, he turned and began waving at the officers guarding the prisoner. “Right, right. You lot know the drill, let’s get this man back to the department.”

“Sir?”

Dawkins glanced at Harry with an expression of, _what now?_ Harry shuffled his feet as he gestured behind him. “Are we bringing Malfoy in as well? Because if we are, I don’t think an _Incarcerous_ is necessary, I have his wand and he’s not going to try and run for it.”

Dawkins shook his head. “You might have been taken in by his story, Potter, but I wouldn’t put it past him to try and overpower you.”

Harry and Malfoy both snickered at this. Dawkins’ brow furrowed, but Harry waved him off, pulling his expression back into something more professional. Dawkins sighed. “Fine. Cuff him and Side-Along him back to the department. We’ll need to take his statement in any case.” He shook his head and muttered something under his breath that sounded like, “I’m getting too old for this,” before Disapparating with the officers and Ivanovich, leaving Harry and Malfoy alone once again.

Harry turned around, dispelling Malfoy’s binds without a word. Malfoy stood, shaking out his arms and rolling his shoulders with a groan.

“Thanks for that,” Malfoy said, trying to pass it off as an off-hand comment even as a pink blush bloomed across his cheeks. “Although I guess you’ll just be cuffing me again anyway.” He held out his hands, chin lifted and jaw squared off, his pride still intact. “Go on then, let’s get this over with.”

Harry shook his head with a gentle smile. He fished out the charmed cuffs from the pocket of his cloak, but before he put them on Malfoy’s bony wrists, he paused, a strange light in his green eyes. “Would you?” he asked. “Try to overpower me, that is. Make a run for it.”

Draco scoffed. “We know how well that went last time, don’t we?”

Harry chuckled as he clasped the cuffs around Malfoy’s wrists. “Yeah, well, to be fair, you didn’t fight that hard, did you?”

A wave of white-gold hair fell into Malfoy’s surprised face. Absent-mindedly, Harry pushed it off his forehead, tucking it behind his ear. Malfoy’s blush went from peony pink to a deep scarlet. Harry chuckled again, his hand falling to his side. “You didn’t turn me in, you practically gave me the wands… If I didn’t know any better, Malfoy, I would say you switched sides that day in the Manor.”

Malfoy looked down at his cuffed hands. When he raised his eyes to meet Harry’s again, his expression was like an exposed flame, vulnerable but bright.

“Maybe I did,” he murmured. “Or maybe I just realized who I wanted to fight for.”

-

After he gave his statement in as long-winded and over-the-top manner as possible, Dawkins let Malfoy go. Malfoy smirked when he found Harry sitting at his desk, filling out the incidence report. He came over and leaned against Harry’s desk with his arms folded across his narrow chest. Harry watched him, trying to stifle a grin as he leaned his head in his hand, eyes shining with suppressed mirth.

“Be sure to write down every detail, Potter,” Malfoy said. He tapped a long finger on the file. “Don’t want to miss anything important, now do we?”

Harry hummed. “I’ll be sure to make it as riveting as possible,” he assured him. “Although, there is one loose end that’s been bugging me. I’ll have to question you further, I’m afraid.”

“Oh?” Malfoy raised an eyebrow, eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out if Harry was being serious or not. His finger traced a small circle on the paper as he asked, “What could you possibly want to know?”

Harry grinned. “Well, I have to investigate the witness, of course,” he said. He sat up a bit and drew his chair closer to Malfoy who was watching him intently, his pink lips parted as he trailed his eyes up and down Harry’s body. “For example,” Harry continued in mock seriousness, “I have to see if the witness is single, and whether he would be free for coffee this weekend, if he’s not too busy making potions with banned substances?”

Malfoy let out a startled laugh as his smirk spread into a grin. “Auror Potter,” he drawled, “are you asking me on a date?”

“Maybe I am.” Harry raised his chin, his grin growing teeth. “Scared, Malfoy?”

Malfoy pushed off Harry’s desk and poked a finger to Harry’s chest, pressing him back in his chair as he leaned in with smug delight.

“You wish.”


End file.
